


Fried Eggs and Eternal Damnation

by misura



Category: Drive Angry (2011)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:03:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2349365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You cook?" Piper asked.</p><p>"Fairly well." The Accountant gestured towards the fridge. "With your permission?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fried Eggs and Eternal Damnation

"Is that a _skull_?" Piper asked, by way of _good morning, Milton, how nice to see you again_.

The Accountant smiled at Milton as if this was some sort of game and he'd just scored a point. Which it wasn't, and even if it had been, a simple question would not have equalled a whole point. "I did tell him to use a cup. You have some very lovely cups, Ms Piper." By way of proof, he held up one of them.

It had little blue flowers and butterflies on it.

"Well, at least you made coffee." Piper poured herself a mug. It was a good mug, Milton thought. It said 'From Zero to Bitch in Under 3 Seconds ... Before Coffee (After, I Can Go Even Faster)'.

"You're welcome," the Accountant said, and all right, fine, that was a point Milton would have acknowledged. Women liked it when you did stuff for them, that was, like, the first rule. He'd have to remember that for next time.

"Just, you know, I could've had the kid with me. You want her to see her grandpa drinking coffee out of a skull? I mean, what crazy kind of person does that, anyway?"

The Accountant smirked at him while Piper was pouring the milk.

"It's not coffee," Milton said, because he didn't think he'd be winning the 'I'm not crazy, I'm just dead' argument any day soon. Besides, it'd probably been a rhetorical question anyway. "It's beer."

"You're drinking beer at - " Piper peered at the clock. It had been stuck on a little before twelve since Milton'd gotten here, and possibly long before that, too.

"Nine," the Accountant supplied helpfully. "Eight fifty-seven, to be precise."

"By all means, let's be precise," Milton said. "Seriously, what the f- "

"Ah." Piper wagged a finger at him, like he was a puppy or something. "Watch your language, mister."

"She's asleep. She's not going to hear anything."

"If I got a dollar every time I've heard a variation on _that_ excuse, I'd be a very rich man," the Accountant said. " 'He never would have found out.' 'She's at work; she'll never know.' " Piper's expression tightened, and Milton awarded himself a point. " 'I was going to pay it all back.' "

"What'd you need money for, anyway?" Milton asked.

"Oh, I don't know." The Accountant shrugged. "College fund?"

"You stay the - the dickens away from my granddaughter, you hear me?" Milton wasn't sure how he'd manage to enforce that particular threat, but he'd find a way. Somehow.

"Right. Like you're going to provide her with any kind of role model."

"Her future, her choice," Piper said. "But hey, you want to contribute, that's fine with me. I'll give you the account number."

It had to be the coffee, Milton decided. "I've got money, too." The Accountant looked politely doubtful. "Not a lot, but some. Look, Piper, you don't need this guy's money, all right?"

"He offered, and you just said he doesn't need it for himself." Piper sipped some more coffee. "So why not? Money's money."

"A very practical point of view," the Accountant said approvingly. "May I pour myself another cup?"

Piper obligingly moved out of his way, closer to Milton. She smelled good, he thought. Clean, with a hint of soap. Looked good, too. Made a man glad to be here.

"Down, boy." The Accountant sounded amused. Piper blinked.

"I'm just saying, do you even know where that money comes from?" Milton said. " _His_ money, I mean? How do you know you're not going to get into all sorts of trouble for accepting it?"

"Now, why would I want to get Ms Piper into any kind of trouble?"

"Because you can, and you're a bastard." Milton knew he was right on both counts. He might not be as sure on the whole 'only doing it to cause trouble' thing, but he was damn sure about _that_.

"Wrong on both counts," the Accountant said. "Or rather: right, but not in the current context. Would you like me to prepare some sort of breakfast?"

"You cook?" Piper asked, before Milton could accuse him of trying to change the subject.

"Fairly well." The Accountant gestured towards the fridge. "With your permission?"

She bobbed her head once. "Go for it."

"He's a servant of the devil," Milton said, as the Accountant rummaged through the fridge, selecting ingredients. "You're really going to eat anything made for you by someone like that?"

"You're drinking beer at nine in the morning. From a _skull_ ," Piper said. "Your argument is invalid."

"Plus, he's one of the damned souls." The Accountant studied a tomato, frowning. "They're not exactly known for their veracity or good sense. Also, I'm not a servant. That would imply I serve someone."

"You're an accountant. You account."

The tomato was returned to its former resting place in the fridge. "Exactly so."

"Same dif," Milton said. "C'mon, Piper. You want to tell me you actually trust this guy?"

"Frying-pan?" the Accountant asked. Piper pointed. "Ah."

"Don't you?" she asked. "I mean, seriously. Deep down inside. You really think he's going to - what? Stab you in the back or something? What for?"

The Accountant put the frying-pan on the gas. His back offered no hint whatsoever as to what he might be thinking - or feeling, assuming he was capable of feeling anything. Milton wasn't quite convinced that was actually the case.

He was tempted to believe it was, but then, he knew first-hand where giving in to temptation would get you. And Piper was right, of course; it wasn't as if he could go to Hell twice.

"I don't like him," Milton said, and then, because he figured she deserved at least part of the truth, "I don't like that you like him."

"Milton's never been very good at sharing." The Accountant turned. He was wearing an apron Milton hadn't seen anywhere in the kitchen before. It said 'Fry the Cook'. "I'm happy to tell you that I don't have that problem, Ms Piper."

"Not that I'm agreeing to anything here, but did you plan on calling me that in bed, too?"

Milton choked on his beer. The skull clattered as it fell on the floor. It was a loud noise, good for waking up a kid, Milton thought.

Not as loud as the sound of someone stepping on the thing, breaking it pretty good. "Oops," the Accountant said, not looking particularly apologetic. "I should really watch where I put my feet down, shouldn't I? And, for your information, to answer your question: no. Unless you would like me to, in which case: absolutely."

"Wow. You're that easy, huh?" Piper said.

"I think I smell something burning," Milton said, which was probably kind of petty of him, but then, so was destroying his favorite beer mug for no good reason.

"As I mentioned," said the Accountant, turning back to his frying-pan, "terrible at sharing."


End file.
